


Stories For Archer

by Some_Original_Name



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Violence, Eventual Fluff, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mycroft Holmes Needs a Hug, Other, Past Relationship(s), Poor Mycroft, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28599810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Some_Original_Name/pseuds/Some_Original_Name
Summary: Stories for a friend based on our roleplay. The same series of stories is posted on Wattpad by the same name.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Original Male Character(s), Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 7





	1. Joseph Griffin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thetrashcanoof](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetrashcanoof/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Griffin took a break for his sandwich to stare at Mycroft, "You what? I've spent the past months mugging you, taking your money and now you want me to guard you? You really must be stupid."

Mycroft Holmes didn't often take walks. Besides not having the time, the need, or the motivation to do so, he just wasn't that kind of person. 

But in recent weeks, he'd decided to fit a walk into his packed schedule. It wasn't very long, and he got a car to the same place, at the same time, on the same day each week. When he was finished with his little ramble he would get back into the car in the same spot and be driven back to work, with the addition of a cup of tea in a takeaway container.

No one was ever allowed to walk with him, he even told his security to leave him be for the duration of said walk. 

This particular time he had allowed his assistant, Anthea, to join him. That was only because of a recent assassination scare that landed him in hospital for a week. Anthea did not want him going by himself, and for once, he agreed.

The sky wore a dull grey, threatening to unleash a tremendous downpour of rain upon the streets of London at any moment, hence the umbrella that he tapped against the pavement as he walked.

"I don't know why you like walking here so much," Anthea stated, a miserable undertone to her voice, "these streets are filthy!" 

Mycroft simply hummed in response.

"If you really want to walk, sir, why don't you do it closer to the office? It's far safer, not to mention cleaner." She glared at something on the ground and made sure to step over it.

Mycroft just gave a slight smile. "Would you believe me if I said I'd grown rather attached to this place?" 

"No." Anthea responded, flatly.

Mycroft just continued to smile. "There's a particular coffee shop along here that does a splendid cup of-" 

It was at that moment a rather tall man in a dirty hoodie collided with Mycroft and stumbled out of the way, mumbling apologies. 

Mycroft gave a polite smile, corrected his suit, and went to keep walking. "They do a splendid cup of tea-" That was when he noticed Anthea glaring at the man who had just walked past. "What? What is it?"

"That man took something from you." She growled, already taking off running after him. "Hey! Come back here!"

The man in question glanced back to see Anthea after him and bolted. 

Mycroft sighed. God how he hated leg work. He gathered himself and followed the two running people at the same steady pace he'd had just a moment ago.

When he finally caught up with them, they had taken up residence in a short alleyway to the side of the road. Anthea had the assailant pinned up against the wall, arm quite firmly held behind his back. The man struggled but Anthea kept a firm grip on him.

Mycroft surveyed the scene and sighed yet again. "You can let him go." 

"But sir, he took-" 

"Yes, my watch, I know."

"You do?" Anthea cried, pushing the man's arm further into his back as he continued to struggle.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Leave us alone for a minute, would you?" 

"Sir-" 

"Take my umbrella, it's likely to rain soon. Oh, and cancel my next meeting."

Mycroft had a look on his face that convinced Anthea he was serious. She reluctantly let go of the hoodie guy, took her employers outstretched umbrella and walked away.

The young man was now panting on the floor, sat with his back against the wall as he rubbed his aching arm. 

"That watch belonged to my uncle. If you wouldn't mind, I'd rather like it back." Mycroft stretched out his hand expectantly. 

The kid glared up at Mycroft for a moment before reaching into his pocket and handing it over.

"Thank you," The government official said, putting the watch securely back on his wrist, "you know, I wasn't sure if you were going to show up this week. I broke schedule last week, and had my assistant with me today. You're quite persistent."

The man stayed quiet for a moment, and when he finally spoke his voice was deep and hard. "I can't afford not to be." 

"Yes, I gather. What with that opioid addiction, and several other homeless people you take responsibility for."

There was a long moment of silence. Neither man said anything.

"What are you going to do with me? Turn me into the police?" 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, "The police? Certainly not. I wouldn't trust them to make tea, let alone take care of you." He considered his next words. "I'm Mycroft Holmes. What's your name?" 

"Griffin." 

"I can tell you're lying." 

"It's my street name. I'm not stupid enough to give you my real name." 

Mycroft had to admit, while this man was being incredibly difficult, he was mildly impressed. His brash nature even reminded him slightly of Sherlock.

It was then he felt a drop of water on his nose and glanced to the sky. The clouds were directly overhead now. Another drop hit him and he sighed, "It's beginning to rain, we should find somewhere a little drier to talk."

"What makes you think I want to talk?"

"There's a delightful little coffee shop not far from here. I assume you know it. Come with me there and I'll buy you some food." 

Griffin continued to stare at him for a while, but eventually stood up and made no effort to run away. Mycroft took that as a sign that he accepted and lead the way.

Very soon after they were settled at a table in the corner of said shop, Mycroft was listening to the gentle classical music they had playing in the background and Griffin was, to say the least, unhappy.

"So how old are you?" Mycroft asked, his eyes running over the young man opposite to see how much he could deduce. 

"Twenty six." 

Hm. Same age as Sherlock. Same life as Sherlock too. 

The dirty hoodie the man wore told him everything and nothing at the same time. It was old, but hadn't belonged to him for very long. A gift perhaps, or something he found in a bin somewhere. So it told Mycroft nothing about his life before, but it said a hell of a lot about his life now. 

"What made you take the watch?"

"I didn't mean to, I saw you with that lady and knew I'd have to be quick," Griffin had his arms crossed, slumped back in the chair, clearly uncomfortable. "Then I got closer and saw you were hurt, I didn't want to knock you over so I put a hand on your arm and the watch was just there."

Mycroft gave an impressed smile. "You noticed my leg? Very good observation. I thought I hid it so well." 

"You did. But it wasn't hard to work out. You-" 

The man was cut off as a waitress put two cups of tea down on the table, as well as a sandwich which she put in front of Griffin.

Mycroft offered the woman a grateful smile, "Thank you, Fiona." He took the tea and had a gentle sip, watching curiously as Griffin took a napkin and wrapped the sandwich before placing it in his pocket. He raised an eyebrow.

"There's others need it more than me," He said as way of explanation, "Are we done here?" 

Mycroft hummed in response, "Not quite. So you take care of..."

He trailed off as he scanned the man once again. Most of the dirt on the hoodie was old, clearly a fault of the previous owner. But some of the more recent marks told story after story.

A thin line of stitching on his arm. The aftermath of a cut, knife wound probably, but the tear had been mended. It was haphazardly done, but seemed to holding. It looked like a childs work. One other person he looked after.

A stane on his stomach of blood, fairly recent, but no his own as he showed no signs of injury. It was fairly large so he'd stayed to help whoever it was. Not an enemy then. Two other people he looked after. 

A patch of what looked like mucus on the waistband of his hoodie was a tale tell sign of a young child. Disgusting, but useful for Mycroft to know. Three other people.

He scanned over the man one last time and saw some a patch that had been stitched into the fabric. It was a star, done recently. Different handy work to the other lot of stitching, it was much cleaner. So...

"Four other people?"

It was then Mycroft noticed some pet hair embedded in part of his sweat pants, around the ankle.

"Four people and a cat?"

Griffin's jaw suddenly clenched, "Three. Three people and a cat."

"Oh, well I was only slightly off. Fiona," he called, waving the waitress back over, "could we get three more sandwiches please? Oh and some form of fish-"

"Max likes tuna." Griffin interjected.

Mycroft nodded, "And some tuna then please. I know it's an odd request but it's very important."

Fiona gave him a slightly weird look but went to fulfill it anyway. 

They sat in a rather uncomfortable silence, both men just drinking their tea, until Fiona returned. Griffin proceeded to package up all but one of the sandwiches, and the fish, before finally beginning to eat.

"What's the point of all this?" Griffin asked, his mouth full of sandwich.

Mycroft took one final sip of his tea before speaking, "I want to offer you a job opportunity." 

The other man looked up at Mycroft for a second, a slightly curious look in his eye, but didn't say anything.

Mycroft continued, "You see, my job is slightly dangerous, hence the leg injury, and I'm rather short of a guard or two." 

There was, once again, no reply.

"You have a good build, you're strong, fast. Loyal almost to a fault, and you know how to protect people. With some training I think you could be a perfect fit." 

Griffin took a break for his sandwich to stare at Mycroft, "You what? I've spent the past months mugging you, taking your money and now you want me to guard you? You really must be stupid." 

He got up to leave but Mycroft put a hand out to stop him. "I've never been more sure of anything, Griffin. I know what I'm doing, and I know what I'm asking of you. You don't have to make a decision right now." 

"But I wouldn't know the first thing about it!" 

"I would provide you with the appropriate training."

"And I'm not leaving the others!" 

"You wouldn't have to." 

The man finally stopped yelling and just stared at Mycroft. "You're crazy." He said, moving to leave again. 

Mycroft shook his head and grabbed the other man's sleeve as he moved away, "Just think it over." He said, placing his business card in Griffin's hand. 

The man just looked at him and left.

* * *

It was about two months later and that was the last Mycroft had heard from Griffin. He'd continued his weekly walks, keeping the same amount of money on him as before so the man could swipe it as he usually did, but Griffin never showed up. 

Mycroft was currently sat, as he usually was, in his office. He was typing out a report for the prime minister when his phone went off and an irritated sigh escaped his lips. 

He picked it up, noticing he didn't recognise the number and was instantly on high alert. He answered in that same cold tone he used to intimidate anyone he wished to, "Who are you, and what do you want?"

"Well it's nice to hear from you too, Mr Holmes."

It took him a minute to realise he knew the voice. "Griffin?"

"Yeah, it's me," he sighed, "Sorry it took so long to get in contact, I had to put enough money aside to use a pay phone."

"You could have just talked to me." Mycroft replied, a casual air to his tone.

"I wasn't sure if I'd be a welcome sight after everything I said and did to you. You were so generous, and I kinda stomped all over that."

Mycroft nodded slightly, not that Griffin could see. The man had a point, but he wasn't upset with the guy. In fact, he was upset not to see Griffin anymore. 

"Listen, I thought about what you said." 

Straight down to business, Mycroft liked that, "And have you reached a decision?"

"Sort of, yeah," Griffin seemed to struggle with what to say next, "Listen, I'd...I'd like to do it. If you'll have me, but I'm not exactly...uh, in the best situation." 

Mycroft sighed shortly. The man being homeless wasn't an issue. He would provide Griffin with appropriate housing, as well as those he was looking after, "That's not an issue. Everything you need will be provided for you." 

"Yeah but, listen, what you said about the opioid addiction...that's not exactly untrue." 

Ah yes. That. Well that wasn't an issue either. That could be dealt with. "I know a fine rehabilitation centre. A few months in there and you'll be on the right track. If you're willing to do that?" 

"Yeah, yeah, of course," Griffin said, "I have a few conditions though."

"Oh?" 

"Whatever good treatment I get, I expect the same of my friends." The man was very firm in what he was saying.

"Of course," Mycroft never expected anything less, "How is Max, by the way?" 

"Fine, cats don't need much looking after."

Max, what a strange name for a cat. Well anyway, that wasn't important. "Alright, I'll send a car for you. Are those all of your conditions?"

"No, there's one more," he paused for a moment, "Stop calling me 'Griffin'. It's not my name. Joseph is my name. Just Joseph. I don't have a great relationship with my parents so I'm going to change my last name." 

However intrigued Mycroft was to know more about the issue with the man's parents, he didn't ask. "Change it to what?" 

"I don't know yet. I'll think of something." He replied, very dismissively.

"Alright, well let me know when you do. I'll need a name to put on the registration forms." It would be a hassle to get the man into rehab without a name, but not actually impossible. He was Mycroft Holmes after all, nothing was impossible.

"Yeah, will do, and Mycroft?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

* * *

Mycroft strode purposefully down the velvet carpeted hallway of the building. He hummed a gentle melody as he walked, his eyes closed for the most part. He was familiar enough with this place to navigate around through muscle memory alone. 

He stopped outside a large wood door. A smile reached his lips as he held his left hand out expectantly. "Joseph, I'd rather like my key card back, if you'd be so kind."

The man in question appeared dutifully behind Mycroft and placed the card in his hand with a small sigh. "I thought I was getting better too."

Mycroft let out a soft chuckle. "You are. You have slight of hand down to a fine art," he pressed the card against the scanner and entered his pin number, "but I'm not an easy person to fool." 

Joseph went into the room ahead of his employer, holding the door open for him as he gave the area a quick scan to make sure it was safe. "No sir, you are not. One of these days I'll manage it." 

Mycroft smirked and sat down in his office chair. "We'll see." 

It was at that moment Mycroft felt a buzz in his breast pocket and pulled his phone out to see he had an incoming call from Anthea. He answered it and listened to what she had to say, when he was done he looked up to see Joseph reading the same information in the form of a text message from the very same PA.

"It would appear the prime minister needs my assistance." Mycroft said, getting up again with slight reluctance.

Joseph nodded. "It would appear so, sir. There's a car waiting for you outside. Are you ready to leave?" 

"I am. Let's go."


	2. Gabriel Delgado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey! What are you doing to Mr Holmes!"
> 
> "I'm trying to save his damn life! Call an ambulance!"

Mycroft felt a harsh slash across his chest and stumbled back against a wall, grunting as all of the air was knocked out of his lungs upon impact. 

The man who had just cut him stood over him and laughed like a maniac. 

It was at times like this he wished that he assigned multiple guards to protect him while he was out. His personal guard Stanley was otherwise occupied at the moment, trying to stop three other attackers. Well, you couldn't fault him for trying. 

But right now, slowly sinking to the floor with nothing he could do to stop it, and his vision going blurry as the burning feeling in his chest spread to the rest of his body, Mycroft thought his chances looked bleak. It was a shame really, this dingy alleyway wasn't where he would have chosen to spend his final moments.

Just as the laughing man stood over him, and reached to put the knife to his throat, who decides to show up but Stanley. The man came out of nowhere really and tackled the assailant to the ground where they tussled, no one gaining the upper hand. 

Mycroft let out a shaky sigh as the blood poured out of his chest like a dam being burst open. His muscles started to surrender to the fire-like feeling that assaulted them and he found he couldn't move without bolts of electric pain flashing through him.

And then, and only then, did he notice another person stood close by. Oh christ. Another attacker? Well he really was dead now.

To his tired minds surprise, the person just settled themselves in front of him on the ground and began to tug at his ripped shirt. 

Why would they do that? What could they possibly have to gain from that?

It was then he felt something press against his wound and jolted from the sheer velocity of the pain. 

"I know, I know, just keep still."

The voice was one that he didn't recognise, and that bothered him. What was happening? Who was this person? Why were they ordering him to keep still?

"Are you still with me? Come on man, eyes open!" 

Mycroft, however much he didn't want to, and however confused he was, did as he was told and tried his best to keep his eyes open.

In actuality, the man was furiously pressing a piece of fabric against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. 

"Hey! What are you doing to Mr Holmes!" 

Ah, that was a voice he recognised. So Stanley had won the tussle. Good. That was good. Mycroft found himself smiling through the pain, relieved that his friend and guard was alright.

"I'm trying to save his damn life! Call an ambulance!"

There it was again. That strong, imposing, voice that Mycroft had yet to put a face to. It had a strong Spanish twist, but there was little more he could make out about it. 

Mycroft passed out shortly after to the sound of Stanley on the phone to Anthea.

* * *

Mycroft strode into the bar with all the confidence of a man who was about to get married and wanted to get utterly wasted beforehand. In reality, he had only ever been to a place such as this to drag Sherlock out, or because the Irish ambassador refused to meet anywhere else.

He instantly spotted the man he was looking for, even from behind he could recognise the doctor that had saved his life sitting at the bar, alone. He slid onto the chair next to him.

"You again?!" The man remarked, looking up from his half empty glass of scotch.

"It's a small world, Dr Delgado." 

Delgado barked a laugh, "You expect me to think this is a coincidence? Look at that suit, you don't belong in here." 

Mycroft, while he was slightly taken back that the man would observe such a thing, was also quite impressed and a little complimented.

"Wait, how do you know my name?" 

He simply smiled at the doctor, "I have my ways." 

"You shouldn't be here." The man told him, taking a swig of his drink.

Mycroft nodded, "Yes, I know, the suit-" 

"No, I mean, it was less than a week ago I helped you," he said, "you should be at home resting. That cut needs time to heal."

The official sighed. Everyone kept telling him that, and he really shouldn't be surprised coming from an actual doctor.

"So why," Delgado continued, "instead of resting, are you risking further damage and serious infection, just to talk to me. Hm?" 

Mycroft wasn't sure how to feel about not being in control of this situation. He wasn't dealing with staff, or a goldfish. This was a man he had no control over, and a smart man at that. But he pressed on. "I came to offer you a business opportunity." 

"I'm a Doctor, I don't deal with business." Was the flat reply that Mycroft got.

Well then, it appeared this would be harder than he thought. But nothing he couldn't handle. He had negotiation down to a fine art.

"As you may have noticed, I have a fairly dangerous job," This recieved a snort from the doctor, "and it has come to my attention that I may need a medic to help when things don't go quite as planned."

Delgado stared blankly at him for a minute, "And you want me to be that 'medic'?" 

"Yes."

"I can't." 

Well that was unexpected, and a little anticlimactic. It was a good job Mycroft knew how to sweeten the deal a little.

"I would pay you of course, a good rate. Better than any other physician gets around here." 

"No, you don't understand-"

"Oh, but I do."

"I can't-"

"I don't see why not." 

"I lost my licence, ok!"

Those last five words were almost yelled, as if they burned his tongue to say and had to be forced out terribly quickly or he may never speak again.

Mycroft sat in shocked silence for a minute, carefully considering his next words, before eventually speaking again, "How did it happen?"

Delgado just shook his head, a murderous sort of smile settling it's self on his lips as he downed the rest of his drink.

It was a while before he spoke.

"I got less interested in my patients, and more interested in trying to drown my demons," He explained, rather strangely, "I showed up to work drunk once and was fired almost immediately. My license was revoked shortly after."

Mycroft didn't know what to say. This man was an alcoholic who put the lives of his patients in danger. But also the very clever man who saved his life, and looked incredibly guilty about what happened. It was written all over his face. He regretted it immensely.

"So thank you, Mr Holmes, but no thank you." Delgado said, and got up to leave. He was halfway to the door when Mycroft figured out what to say.

"I could help you!" He exclaimed, "Get your license back, I mean. I could find you the best attorney there is, and any witnesses you need." 

Delgado paused where he was and turned to face Mycroft, a suspicious look on his face, "You met me a week ago. Why on earth would you do all that for me?" 

"Because I-" God Mycroft, swallow your pride, you know you have to do this. "Because I need you." 

* * *

It was three in the morning when the piercing sound of a phone ringing stirred the man from his slumber. He groaned and fumbled around on his nightstand to find it. 

In his careless, sleepy, state he knocked it onto the floor just as it stopped ringing.

He sighed softly and rolled over in bed, preparing to ignore what had just happened and go back to sleep.

When the phone rang again he cursed it out in a tired string of Spanish and almost fell out of bed in his haste to grab it. Anything to end that insufferable ringing. 

"Hello?"

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line before what sounded like shuffling and then another man's voice. "Gabriel? It's Joseph." 

"Do any of you lot actually own a clock? It's three in the morning..." He grumbled and rubbed his face, "I have to get up for work tomorrow, and I have to be there early to open the clinic myself."

"Yes, I know, but it's Mycroft-" 

Gabriel instantly sat up straight on the edge on the bed, all thoughts of going back to sleep abandoned, "What is it? What happened?" 

"He's been shot. Nowhere vital. His leg. But we could really use your help down here." 

"It's three in the morning, how the hell was he shot at three in the morning?!" Gabriel, exploded before quickly shaking his head, "Never mind. Give me your location, I'll be there soon."

With that, he ended the call and moved to his closet to throw on the first thing he could find. It took him less than ten minutes to get dressed, grab his emergency medical bag, and be in his car on his way to the location Joseph gave him.


	3. Joseph's "Parents"

Mycroft knocked on the hard wooden door and waited, hearing the familiar sound of shuffling on the other side as the person inside came to answer.

When the door finally opened he gave a thin smile, and was faced with a tall man with dirty blonde hair - turning grey now - and chocolate brown eyes. 

"Ah, Mr Thompson, I believe," he greeted. 

The man gave a grunt of recognition.

"My name is Mycroft Holmes, I'm here to talk about your son." 

"Did something happen to him?" The man's eyes widened momentarily, "Well you'd better come in then." 

Mycroft gave a polite nod and followed the guy into their living room. It was smart and well kept. With pictures of children and grandchildren on the walls. 

A short-ish woman who had blue eyes and dark brown hair appeared from the kitchen and glanced between the two men in front of her, "David, what's going on?"

"Something's happened to Matthew."

"Oh my goodness, what is it?" 

Mycroft, in the meantime, had made himself comfortable in one of the armchairs, looking very casual about what he was doing, one leg crossed over the other, twirling his umbrella softly next to him. That was all while Mr Thompson was trying to console his wife as they sat down together on the sofa opposite.

"Actually," Mycroft broached, "it wasn't Matthew I wanted to talk about..."

The man looked at him, eyebrows knotted together in confusion, "Oh well then there must be some mistake. Matthew is our only son."

"Oh come now, Mr Thompson," He said, staring right through the man, "we both know that's not true." 

The man seemed to grit his teeth and pulled his shaking wife closer. This was more the reaction Mycroft had been hoping for.

He just flashed a slightly sadistic smile and continued. "I must say, I'm surprised. I didn't think anyone could be crueler than my parents were, but you really have given them a run for their money."

"Now look here-" 

"He's changed his name you know." 

The woman gasped. Mycroft let his smile grow ever so slightly and took in the effect his words were having.

"It's Joseph Griffin now." He mentioned, casually. "Not that you ever tried to find out."

Mr Thompson seemed outraged and stood up. Mycroft prepared to fend off an attack. "I don't know who you think you are but-"

"Oh be quiet, David! There's no point denying it anymore." 

"But Claudia-" 

"Sit down!" 

Mr Thompson did as he was told with a sour look on his face. Mycroft found this incredibly amusing.

"How did you know?" Mrs Thompson asked. "Did we not hide it well enough?"

Mycroft felt his hand roll into a tight fist at hearing this woman talk about Joseph as if he was something to hide. Something to be ashamed of. He had half a mind to thump her one, she really did deserve it, but he wouldn't do that. "Joseph? No, no you hide your connection to him rather well. He works for me now, you know."

"So he finally gave up that stupid actor dream then?" Mr Thompson said, his tone full of spite.

Joseph had wanted to become an actor? Well he certainly kept that one quiet. Mycroft sensed he would need to discuss that with the man later. But for now he needed to knock these people down a peg or two.

"And he gave up his life of sin?" Mrs Thompson added, almost sounding jovial.

Life of sin? As in being homeless? Or was it the drugs she was referring to? Hearing this brought back some unpleasant memories of conversations with his own mother about Sherlock.

"Joseph is a fine young man. He has been completely clean for two years now and performs his duties admirably," Mycroft explained, practically through gritted teeth, "I have a picture of him here actually." 

He reached into his breast pocket and handed over the photo of Joseph. It was a small picture that had been taken on one of the rare moments he cracked a smile on duty. It was a wonderful photo, and something that Mycroft treasured. 

"You can keep that one if you like, I have more." He added, quickly. He had many more in fact, but that might seem slightly creepy to say.

The couple spent a while just looking at the picture, until finally the woman spoke, "Oh, well he does look nice. Much better than the last time we saw him."

Her husband gave a small noise of agreement. "I suppose, if he's cleaned himself up, we could see him aga-" 

The man couldn't even finish his sentence before Mycroft burst out laughing, to which he received some very strange looks.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, wiping a tear from his eye, "it's just, you think I came here to invite you to see him again? That's highly amusing. No, no, I came here to show you how much better off without you he is." 

The couple just stared at him. "What...?" 

Mycroft sighed and shook his head, "He wants absolutely nothing to do with you. When people ask about his family he talks solely about his sister, or awkwardly changes the subject."

Apparently Joseph's sister, Abigail, did very well for herself actually. She owns a flower shop in London.

"You abandoned him, your own son, when he needed you most. Why on Earth would I be here to invite you back into his life?" 

There were a few moments of silence until Mr Thompson stood up once again, absolutely seething, "Get out of my house!"

Mycroft smiled and stood, "Gladly. Good day to the both of you." He said, picked up his umbrella and left the house.

With an unusual bounce in his step, he walked down the garden path, across the road and went for quite the little trek, going quite a way before he came to the familiar sight of one of his sleek, black cars.

He slid into the back, where he was greeted by a pair of blue eyes, identical to the ones he'd been disappointing just a moment ago. 

"Good afternoon, sir." 

"Good afternoon, Joseph." 

Joseph gave a polite nod as the driver started the car, "Did you enjoy your walk?" 

"Why yes Joseph," Mycroft let a grin settle over his face, "Yes I did."


	4. Hugo Delgado

Mycroft groaned as he got out of his car. Today had been a long day and his back appeared to have taken the brunt of it. He stretched, winced in pain, and dragged himself towards his front door. 

He pulled his front door key out of his pocket and went to unlock it, when he noticed something. The gravel around the door had been disturbed.

Someone had been here, and recently. 

The door was still locked when he tried it, and there were no signs of forced entry, so they hadn't managed to get inside. At least...not through the door. 

He did a quick check of the perimeter, found nothing out of the ordinary and went back to the front. 

Thinking nothing more of it he went inside, he was far too tired for this. If someone wanted to assassinate him then he just hoped they'd make it quick. 

He found his mind wandering as he stepped a little way inside. If someone was outside, his security would have alerted him. So it had been someone he knew and trusted. If they stayed, they probably had a key to get in and were somewhere around. 

Had Damian come back from his trip already? No, no. He would have said something. Wouldn't he?

The only other person who could, and more importantly - wanted to, break into his house and get away with it, was Sherlock. So his brother had come to visit him? How nice and vaguely suspicious.

He heard a noise from the kitchen and ventured over.

"You know brother, if you wanted to talk you could have just phoned." He announced, a tired slur to his usual proper speech pattern. 

He heard the other person laugh and realised that it was not Sherlock. He rounded the corner and saw none other than...

"Dr Delgado?" 

"Are you aware your kitchen is completely void of food?" The man asked, gesturing vaguely around him.

Mycroft didn't answer.

"You do know what a kitchen is for, don't you?" Gabriel said, taking a swig from the glass of whiskey he had in his hand.

The man was sat at Mycroft's kitchen island, perched haphazardly on one of the stools there with his back leant rather casually against the island itself.

"That's...my whiskey." Mycroft said, slowly. Once he'd come to terms with the fact that Gabriel had broken into his house. 

"No, Mr Holmes, this is my payment. I am currently working after the hours you paid me to do." Was Gabriel's cryptic response.

"I didn't ask you to do that."

Gabriel gave a dry laugh. "You haven't asked me to do anything. It's usually Anthea who asks me to help you because you always try to cover up your injuries. I mean, why did you hire me if you aren't going to seek my help?" 

Mycroft didn't have an answer for that either. The man had a point, and a good one at that. It had Mycroft stumped, and a little on edge. He never had control of conversations when he was talking to Gabriel, and that unnerved him. A lot. 

"Anyway," Gabriel continued, "it is once again, Anthea, asking me to help you. She called me earlier and said she was worried you weren't eating properly. She gave me a key, and here I am." He paused to look around the kitchen for emphasis. "As you can see, her concerns were valid."

Mycroft gave a long suffering sigh. "I suppose you won't believe me if I say I just need to go for a grocery run?" 

Gabriel snorted. 

Mycroft rolled his eyes and went to snatch the glass from the other man, putting it down on the counter next to the sink.

"Hey!" 

"You shouldn't be drinking if you're 'still on duty.'" 

"Damn..." Gabriel knew that would come back to bite him. He groaned and shook his head before looking up to meet Mycroft's eye. "But seriously, you do need to eat. That brain of yours isn't going to function properly if you don't. Okay?" 

God, Mycroft knew that. Everyone told him that. Time and time again people told him that. He couldn't remember a time when people weren't telling him that! He just- It was just difficult. He was busy, and food was of little interest if it wasn't sweet. But he couldn't just survive on sweet things, he'd get fat. Again.

"Okay?" Gabriel repeated, firmer this time.

"Okay, okay. Yes, I understand. You can go now." 

Gabriel shook his head. "Oh no. You have had a shit day, I can tell. You need some food, and there's none around here." 

"I can order takeout."

"Ha! You expect me to believe that? No, no, no. I am taking you to dinner, that way I can make sure you actually eat something." He got up and grabbed his coat he'd left on the stool next to him. "Come on."

Mycroft groaned louder than he ever thought possible, but reluctantly followed the doctor out. He called a car, and soon they were on their way to wherever the directions Gabriel gave the driver lead.

* * *

For the second time today Mycroft stepped out of a car and felt his back ache in a way that made him question whether life was really worth it. 

"Where are we?" He asked.

"You'll see," Gabriel replied, already making his way inside.

Mycroft dragged himself after the other man and entered the building. 

Instantly a very sweet aroma hit him and he found himself smiling. It was a tomato-y kind of smell that felt crisp in the air and made him feel weirdly at ease.

The walls were painted a relaxing cream colour and the lights left a warm glow about the room.

It was strange, but Mycroft felt a sense of calm here that he hadn't experienced anywhere else. 

"Ah, brother, it is nice to see you!" A loud, cheerful voice came from across the room and Mycroft looked up to see a tall-ish man with a wide grin advancing towards them. "It has been far too long!"

Gabriel shook his head. "I saw you this morning, Hugo." 

"Well yes, but you're my big brother, I love to see you. Twelve hours is a long time!"

Gabriel gave a long sigh, but he was smiling.

"Now tell me, who is this handsome man you have brought with you?" Hugo asked, grinning at Mycroft.

"This is my employer, Mycroft Holmes." 

Mycroft gave a short smile and held his hand out for Hugo to shake, which the man did, vigorously. That was the first enthusiastic handshake Mycroft had experienced in years. It was kind of...nice, to be meeting someone who wasn't instantly afraid of him.

"Ah ha! I was wondering when I would get to meet him. Well, it is good to meet you Mr Holmes. Gabriel has told me a lot about you..." He trailed off, sending his brother a quick glance.

"Oh?" Mycroft asked, slightly intrigued.

Hugo just smiled. "Oh yes. He tells me all about you." He sent Mycroft a wink but didn't elaborate. "Come, come, I have your table ready and waiting, Gabriel." 

Mycroft followed the very excitable man in front of him and sent Gabriel a curious glance. "Your...table?"

Hugo chuckled to himself in front of them. "Oh yes! Gabe here works long hours, and is not a very good cook. He often comes here for meals, so I have learned to save a table for him." 

Mycroft shot the doctor an amused look, but didn't get a reply. In fact, Gabriel seemed to be purposefully avoiding his eye. 

Hugo kept a steady pace and lead them over to a table in the corner by a window. Ah yes, very secluded, very Gabriel. Hugo gave them both menus and then skipped off, leaving them to see what they wanted.

* * *

"So what did you think?" 

Mycroft glanced from where he'd been staring out of the car window to Gabriel beside him with a confused expression.

"Of the food, my brother, everything. What did you think?" 

He gave a soft sigh and leant back into the seat, letting his eyes fall closed for a brief moment before eventually opening them again. "The food was wonderful, and the restaurant itself was beautiful. You're a lucky man if you get to dine their as often as Hugo says."

Gabriel chuckled. It was quiet and tired, but genuine. The first time in a while Mycroft had heard his doctor laugh.

"As for Hugo, he's very...energetic." 

"It's alright, you can say annoying. I always do." 

Mycroft simply smiled and looked at Gabriel like he was his mother about to tell him not to be rude about his little brother. "No, he...he was nice. As I said, you're a lucky man."

Now Gabriel was smiling. It was a smile full of pride and he crossed his arms in a satisfied manner, leaning against the car door. 

It didn't take long before they reached Mycroft's house (Gabriel had insisted on making sure he got home) and he quickly said good night to both his driver and his doctor before getting out to go inside.

This time when he reached the door there were no signs that anyone else had been there, but there was food in his kitchen so Anthea must have sent someone in while he was gone.

He smiled and wandered up to his bedroom.

Damian was meant to be away on a business trip for the rest of the week, so he had the bed to himself for the foreseeable future. Which was good, because he practically collapsed on it when he got close enough.

Almost as soon as his head hit the pillow he was asleep with a small content smile on his face.


	5. Mycroft's Scar

Mycroft looked to the side, grinning at his younger brother. Sherlock giggled at him and he couldn't help doing the same back. 

His baby brother had an infectious laugh, one that lit up his face all the way to his eyes and made Mycroft feel so incredibly full of love.

The sun beammed down on his face and he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth it provided. The grass pressed against his back, tickling the hairs on his neck and providing a soft pillow to lay on. 

It was a perfect day. Blue sky as far as the eye could see. They'd played hide and seek in the woods and run all the way up the hill next to it before collapsing at the top. 

Everything was...right.

That's when he heard the soft pattering of a third person's footsteps and opened a curious eye. It was his baby sister, she was just stood there looking at them.

"Eurus?" He muttered.

Something glinted in the sun, blinding him for a second. He shaded his eyes with his hand and took a good look at her.

"What are you holding?" 

She merely smiled. It was something that sent chills down his spine. She lifted up what she was holding and held it above him. Instinctively he reached out for it, but she pulled it away, and only then did he see that it was a knife she was holding. 

"Eurus what are you-" 

His sentence was cut short by his sister thrusting the knife downwards into Sherlock's chest.

"No!"

He bolted upright, a sudden wave of disorientation hitting him as he realised he was no longer on the hill beside their house.

He was, in fact, at home in bed.

He shuddered, a soft sob escaping his throat as the image of his sister stabbing his brother came to mind. 

"Just a dream, it was- it was just a dream!" He choked out. "Eurus wouldn't do that! She...she wouldn't do that..."

It took him a while to actually convince himself that those words were true. But eventually his mind settled again and he rolled over in bed, wrapping the blanket securely around his shoulders.

He was still sniffing softly, wiping his damp eyes. This was stupid! It was just a nightmare.

Just a...hang on. What was that smell?

It sort of...lingered in the air and had an almost burnt kind of taste to it.

He sat bolt upright as he realised that what he was smelling was smoke, and felt his heart rate spiked.

No. No this was just his anxious mind playing tricks on him. There was no smoke. Everything was fine. 

Still...might be a good idea to check, for the sake of exhausting all options. You know, just in case. It was only logical. 

Desperately trying not to pay attention to the fact that he was giving in to his anxiety, he gently got out of bed. He tiptoed past his desk, took a right at the bookshelf and finally came to a stop by his door. 

With a shaky breath he pressed the back of his hand against the handle. It was cool. Good, that meant there wasn't any fire on the other side. Not that there was any fire at all, he was being paranoid.

Then, before his mind could stop him, he grabbed the handle and swung the door open.

Immediately, he wished he hadn't. The smoke hit him like a determined wave, going so far as to knock him to the floor. It filled his lungs, burned his eyes, strangled the very life out of him. 

It wasn't until he realised that at least ten minutes had passed and he was still alive that he stopped sobbing. 

He- He was okay. He was bruised from falling onto his back like that. But he was okay. Of course! The smoke rose to the ceiling, leaving a slither of clear, breathable air by the floor. 

He was currently laying in that slither. As long as he stayed close to the ground, he was alright.

With his newfound knowledge, he rolled over onto his front, and his limbs were off before he could think. There was only one thing on his mind right now, his baby siblings.

Sherlock's room was closest, he would go there first, get his baby brother and take him to safety. Then he would come back for Eurus and try to wake his parents, who were very inconveniently on the other side of the house at this point. 

God why didn't they have smoke alarms? A house full of geniuses and not one of them thought perhaps it would be a good idea to install some.

It was about then he rammed into something hard, which he identified to be the door to Sherlock's room. He opened the it, stepped inside, and quickly closed it behind him. There were traces of smoke in the air, but nowhere near as much as in the hallway. 

Without time to think he grabbed his baby brother, who stayed asleep in his arms as he took a deep breathe and went back out into the consuming darkness. 

He knew the house well enough to navigate through muscle memory alone, which was lucky because he could see literally nothing through the smoke. Before long he found himself by the stairs and took them two at a time, focusing on trying not to pass out. 

By the time he reached the ground floor the smoke cleared and he could breathe again. The heat had also subsided and he could think clearly once more. 

So the fire was on the second story. But how? Was there anything up there that could start a fire? Well the how didn't matter anymore. What had happened had happened, and he was left to pick up the pieces. 

He reached the front door in a few tumbling steps, fumbling with the key that was left on a counter nearby. It took him a few attempts to get it right, but he did eventually and turned the lock with a satisfying click.

Then, finally, with Sherlock in his arms he stepped out into the night, suddenly wishing he'd put some shoes on before leaving. He stumbled a few steps until he was a safe distance from the house, gently laying his brother down on the grass.

Sherlock was safe.

A heavy sigh left his lips as he took a few steps back, with the intention of going back inside, but that all came to a grinding hault when he vision turned sideways and he found himself on the floor, completely unable to keep his eyes open.

* * *

There was a soft heat on his face that gently persuaded him to wake up.

He stretched, mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over, cringing as his face hit a patch of wet grass.

The shock of the sudden cold patch was enough to bring him to his senses. He sat up and suddenly the light heat on his back became ferocious, the soft murming of a town in the distance became closer and the darkness became light as he turned to see his home engulfed by the flames.

His heart was in his throat instantly, and he scrambled to stand, nearly tripping over his brother who was still tucked away safely from the fire.

There was noise all around him, the crackle of the fire, the noise of people shouting about god knows what from god knows where and finally the beat of his own heart in his ears. 

On shaky legs he took a step towards the house, pushing through the heat, through the fear, through everything. He had to get back in there. Eurus and his parents were still inside. He had to do something.

Every step he took burned. His face was on fire and he could bearly see through the tears but he kept going. The feeling of tiles against his feet instead of grass confirmed that he was heading in the right direction.

The stairs weren't far away, but by that point his limbs ached far more than he ever thought possible. His lungs burned, and his eyes cried out in pain.

No. He couldn't do this. Not again. 

Eurus needed him. 

He felt himself coming to a stop, just clinging to the stairs, willing himself to move.

His parents needed him.

Suddenly the heat didn't feel so very overwhelming, it was almost like a blanket now. The smoke didn't look like a dark abyss either, it looked like a fuzzy cloud. It was almost...nice.

He couldn't fight it anymore and so let himself be lulled into that good night.

* * *

The next thing he remembered was a seething pain all down his left side and the stars of the night sky above him.

There was a warm glow from somewhere nearby and he found himself briefly wondering what it was.

He tried to sit up but a firm hand was placed on his shoulder and he was forced back down, "It's good to see you're awake son, but don't try to sit up." 

The words passed right through him like they'd never been there at all. He recognised the voice but couldn't make sense of it. He was cold. He was laying on something damp, and soft, and he didn't like it.

There was a hum of activity around him, he could sense it. A lot of people were there, all doing different things, working towards the same goal like little bees. 

He found himself smiling. He liked bees. Sherlock liked bees too. 

"Where's Sherlock...?" He mumbled, as it was the only thing on his mind. 

"He's with your mother and father. They were all outside when we got here, so they're alright."

Mycroft was satisfied with that. His baby brother was okay. His parents were okay. Well then why did he feel like something was missing...?

He knew what it was. "What about Eurus?" 

"Never mind about that now, just keep still for me." 

This...person, whoever they were, had not answered his question. That had implications he didn't like. 

"What happened to my sister?" He said, firmer than before.

He could almost hear the cogs in the person's mind turning as they worked out how to break the news that they didn't know where Eurus was. 

Or worse, that they knew exactly where she was, but it was a corpse they were trying to reach.

"Tell me what happened to her!" He screamed, sitting up all at once, his body screaming to alert him that the sudden movement was not appreciated. "Tell me what happened or so help me god-" 

"Now, now Mycroft, settle down."

Huh? That was a different voice than before, and it had come from behind him. Who...?

"Leave the doctor alone, he's only doing his job."

All at once Mycroft's senses came back to him and he felt tears well up in his eyes, "U-Uncle Rudy...?"

"Yes, it's me, Mycroft, and everything's going to be okay."


	6. Hugo and Mycroft

"Well hello sir, my name is Hugo. I'll be your waiter for this evening!" 

Hugo only recieved a forced grunt in response. So it was going to be one of those evenings, was it? Oh well. He could deal with people being mildly rude to him, he'd had worse, "Can I perhaps get you a menu?" 

The man opposite him gave him an exasperated look, before shaking his head, "No, I'm still waiting for someone." 

"Of course, of course. How about I bring you this evening's wine list?" 

"Sure."

Well that was the closest thing to approval Hugo had received from the man thus far, so off he disappeared to fetch the wine list.

The man sat there, glancing at his watch every so often and giving off increasingly irritated sighs. That was until someone stepped through the front door that got his attention, "Just where the hell have you been?" He growled.

"I'm sorry, Damian. I had to work a little later but-" 

"Mycroft, I don't want your excuses. Just sit down," Damian replied, leaning away as Mycroft tried to plant a kiss on his cheek, "You've already made me look stupid enough sat here by myself for so long."

"I know love, I'm sorry," Mycroft mumbled in return, watching as his lovers face morphed from annoyed to something close to murderous.

"Call me 'love' one more time and I swear-"

"Here's your wine list, sir." 

Damian leant back, jumping in shock as a piece of paper with stylish velvet edges was placed in front of him. 

Mycroft shot Hugo an embarrassed look that the man pretended not to notice. He knew it wasn't Mycroft that he'd really embarrassed, "I see your date has arrived, how nice! Shall I get a candle for the table?" 

"Just a menu will be fine, thanks." 

Hugo flashed a trademark smile, and went off to grab two menus. Before very long the starters were ordered and eaten without any mishaps, it even looked like the tension between the two men had subsided, at least a little. By the time their main courses had been brought out, the wine bottle was almost empty.

"Henry, or whatever, another bottle," Damian said, slightly louder than necessary. His cheeks were flushed but that didn't stop him. 

"It's Hugo, sir, and yes, of course," Hugo took the empty wine bottle out of his hands and went to walk away, stopping as he heard a rather loud squeak from behind him. He turned back around to see that Mycroft's face was a bright red and it looked like he was trying to push something away from him under the table. There was a smirk on the other man's face as he reached further that made Hugo increasingly uncomfortable, "Actually, sir. I think you've had enough." 

Damian snapped to face Hugo, "What did you say?" 

Hugo's face was still cheerful as ever, but his eyes were something else, something...cold, "I said, you've had enough. I will not be bringing you anymore to drink tonight." 

The fire in Damian's eyes then could be comparable to the ones burning outside the gates of hell, "Get me the fucking manager."

A satisfied smile reached Hugo's lips. How he loved when people asked him for the manager, "Oh sir, I think you've misunderstood. This is my restaurant. I own this establishment. I am perfectly entitled to deny you whatever I see fit. If you don't like that, you're welcome to leave."

Damian sat back in his chair, silently staring at Hugo for a long moment before waving a dismissive hand and turning his attention back to the steak in front of him. 

Mycroft gave his friend a grateful look, simply receiving a soft smile in return before the man disappeared once again. The main courses were eaten without anymore incidents, and Mycroft was now sat with a dessert menu in front of him, an excited gleam in his eye.

"Don't you think you've had enough, sweetheart?" A voice told him from the other side of the table. It was the still slightly tipsy Damian, but even so, Mycroft knew it wasn't the alcohol talking. His heart sank and he gently set the menu down. Damian was right. He had already eaten far too much. 

Actually. No. You know what? This was the first proper meal he had had in two days, and the only thing he'd been looking forward to all week. He loved Hugo's food, especially his sweeter dishes, and he was not going to be told no, "No, actually, I don't." He replied, grasping the menu once more and going back to surveying what was on offer.

Damian sighed loudly, "Fine then, if you want to get fatter go ahead."

Mycroft almost pouted, "Why are you being like this?" 

"Well I just thought you'd want to make an effort to look good for me, but if you don't love me enough to do that then that's fine." 

Mycroft clenched his jaw. This was the point he usually backed down, but not tonight. There was something in the air that made him feel more confident, more secure. He wasn't going to be bullied tonight, "You know I love you Damian, but I just want to treat myself. It's my decision. So stop being so stupid and-"

"What did you just say to me?"

Oh dear. 

"That's- That's not-" Mycroft's confidence suddenly broke down, leaving him sinking back into his seat like a puppy with it's tail between its legs, "I didn't mean-"

"Oh no, sweetheart. I know what you meant," Damian said, his voice low and hard. He stood up in one swift motion and Mycroft could do little to muffle his yelp. 

"No, no I'm sorry please-"

"Stop making a scene. We're going home," Damian announced, grabbing his wrist, about to yank Mycroft up into a standing position when a man appeared in front of him, obscuring his view of his lover.

"Leaving so soon, sir? You haven't even had dessert," It was Hugo. Of course it was Hugo. He always turned up at the worst moments, or the best moments, depending on how you looked at it.

"We're fine. Thank you," Damian said, trying to take some of the anger out of his voice. "My partner isn't feeling well, we're going home."

Hugo smiled in a way that suggested he didn't believe Damian, "I suppose he's so sick he can't stand by himself, and that's why you're so graciously helping him?" He said his voice laced with something close to carefully considered sarcasm, glancing down at the iron clad grip Damian had on Mycroft.

Damian followed his eye and after a second reluctantly released Mycroft, taking a small step back as he did so, "I just thought he might need an arm to steady him, apparently I was wrong."

Hugo narrowed his eyes, "I think perhaps you should pay the bill and be on your way, sir." 

Damian was silent for a very long time, long enough for everyone else in the restaurant to have figured out something was wrong. It seemed they had gained an audience. "Come on, Mycroft. We're leaving," He said, finally. 

Mycroft was about to stand up when Hugo put out an arm to block him, a fire in his eyes, "You will be leaving without Mr Holmes."

"It's...okay, Hugo. I'm alright," He said, softly, moving to gently step around the man. He wasn't entirely sure he'd stopped his voice from trembling, but that couldn't be helped. Especially as he knew what waited for him when he arrived home.

Hugo gave him a long, sad look, like he knew exactly what Mycroft was thinking. He didn't want to move. He was all too aware of what Mycroft had to go home to. He couldn't just bear it. Then, very, very reluctantly, he took a step to the side, watching as that same devilish smirk appeared on Damian's face. All he could do was observe as the man wrapped a firm arm around Mycroft's waist and pull him towards the exit.

Painful memories reared their ugly heads. He could still feel Marco's hand on his back, his arm, over his mouth. 

"Dammit!" It only occured to him at that moment that he was being watched by every available eye in the room, "It's okay, folks. Just a small domestic issue. None of our business really." 

Despite his words, everyone was still looking at him. He let out a tired groan and retreated to the security of the kitchen, making his way quietly towards the back exit where he slipped out into the night. He fell towards the nearest wall and pressed his back up against it, sinking slowly to the floor. His head was in his hands before he could stop it, tears welling up in his eyes.

A long time passed, or a short time, he didn't know how long he was there for, the only thing that brought him back to his senses was something furry pressing against his leg, "Oh, hello Diego. You'll have to excuse me, I forgot to bring your fish." 

The cat meowed in what Hugo could only think to be annoyance and nipped at his sleeve, tugging gently. 

"I know you're upset, but you don't have to take it out on my jacket." He murmed, wiping his eyes softly with his free sleeve. The cat swatted at his hand, tugging with determination at the fabric grasped in it's mouth, "What is it? You want me to go with you?" 

Diego just kept pulling his sleeve. Oh well. He was due for a break anyway. He stood up slowly, watching as the cat trotted off down the alleyway. So, with nothing better to do for the next twenty minutes or so, he followed it, stepping over suspicious looking substances on the ground as he went. 

It took little more than two or three minutes of walking through winding alleyways for Diego to come to a stop, "What is it? There's...nothing here." Hugo said, taking a look around the alley, "...Oh well, we had a fun little adventure didn't we, Diego?" 

He was about to start walking back to his restaurant when he heard a car door open and a loud thud. 

"No- I didn't tell him anything, I-"

"Then why in the hell did he try to stop you leaving with me, huh? He had to know something!"

Hugo stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around. Oh god. He knew those voices. He knew them all too well. 

"Damian- Please, I promise you I didn't say anything to him. He doesn't know where the bruises came from-" 

Hugo spotted a metal bar on the floor and beant down to grab it, running it over in his hands a few times before creeping slowly towards where the alleyway opened out to meet the road.

"You better hope to god he doesn't, because you've lied to me before!"

"I didn't tell him- Please! Let go!" 

Then, before his legs could stop him, he stepped out into the street, metal bar in hand. The sight that greeted him wasn't a pleasant one. Mycroft Holmes being pinned against the wall by his "partner" who currently had a tight grip on the man's throat.

"I would advise, sir," Hugo said, very carefully, "That you let him go."

"This fucking prick again. You followed us, didn't you?" Damian yelled, pushing a shaking Mycroft further against the wall, "What did you tell him?"

Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He choked on the words he'd been saying over and over again all evening. 

Hugo's grip on the bar tightened and his jaw clenched, "Mr Holmes didn't have to tell me anything. You aren't very subtle." 

"H-Hugo- You don't have to-" 

"No, Mycroft, I do. Now Mr Wight, let him go, and walk away."

Damian stared at Hugo for a while, before dropping Mycroft to the floor and slowly walking up to the man, straightening out to his full height as he went, "And what are you going to do if I don't you scrawny little runt? Huh?!" 

Despite the fact his better judgement was screaming at him to back down, Hugo didn't. He stayed right where he was, "I'll make you."

Damian barked a laugh before very quickly his face fell again, then all of a sudden he grabbed the bar Hugo held, yanking it out of his hands, throwing it off to the side, "Not so tough now, are you? This isn't your fight, leave while you can still walk." With that, Damian turned back and headed over to Mycroft, who was now craddling Diego in his arms, softly petting the cat as he tried to calm down. Diego hissed loudly, arching his back as Damian got closer, only receiving a disgusted look from said man, "Lose the cat Mycroft, and get back in the car, we're leaving."

Mycroft nodded softly, moving to stand and let go of Diego, but the cat refused to be put down. He just dug his claws into the soft material of Mycroft's suit. He looked up to apologise to Damian, just as a figure appeared in front of him. It was Hugo. 

"Mr Holmes isn't going anywhere with you," He said firmly. He'd made the mistake of letting Mycroft walk away with this man before. But he wouldn't let it happen again. He had a chance to right his wrong now and he sure as hell was going to take it.

Damian let out a long suffering sigh and very slowly walked around the car to meet Hugo, staring down at him with something close to bored.

"Get out of the way."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be."

Suddenly the man swung at him, and without even thinking Hugo caught his hand before twisting it around and pushing it into his back. 

"I said. Walk. Away." Hugo practically growled, bending Damian back by his shoulder so he could whisper into the man's ear, "Or you will be very sorry."

Then, he released his grip on the man, shoving him forward as he did so.

Damian caught himself quickly and spun around on his heel, watching Hugo carefully. He could tell the man was serious, and honestly, this was more trouble than he needed tonight. "Fine. But I don't know why you care so much. He really isn't worth the effort," Damian muttered, before going back around to the drivers side of the car and getting inside. 

It was a few minutes before he drove away, and as soon as he was out of sight Hugo immediately turned to the shaking man behind him, bringing him into a tight hug, "You're okay, Mycroft. He's gone now. It's alright."

Mycroft let Diego hop to the floor as he weakly wrapped his arms back around the other man. He sobbed into his shoulder until there were no more tears to cry, "Th- Thank you...Hugo."

"Shhh, it's okay."

There was a long silence that mainly consisted of Mycroft's gentle sniffing, and Hugo making hushed comforting noises in return.

"...I don't know how I'm going to get home..."

"Don't be silly. You're not going back there. You will stay with me and Gabriel tonight, and for as long as you need to after that," Hugo assured him, wrapping a protective arm around Mycroft's shoulder as they started walking back to the restaurant.

A loud meow echoed behind him and he grinned over his shoulder at the cat who had produced it, "Yes, you too Diego. I still owe you some fish. Come on, we have a doctor to piss off."


	7. Greg and Joanna

"Greg, there's something I need to tell you."

Glancing at himself in the bathroom mirror, Greg sighed, gently combing over the third grey hair he'd found this week. The fact is was Wednesday only added to the growing bruise on his pride, "Can it wait, love?"

There was an audible groan behind him and the pattering of vaguely annoyed footsteps. Then he felt arms wrap around his waist, glancing down to see his girlfriend's hands resting there. He grinned, placing a hand over hers, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles while he shifted to look at the grey hairs collecting around his ears.

"Leave your hair alone Greg," She said, "I can dye it for you later. But right now we do really need to talk."

Greg reluctantly dragged his gaze away from the mirror, turning to wrap his strong arms around her, "Alright Joanna, what do you need to talk about?"

Joanna smiled briefly before taking Greg by the shoulders, spinning him around and pushing him down on the toilet in front of her. 

Best he was sitting down for this.

She took a moment to consider what she was going to say, leaning against the sink as she did so, "I'm...late," She started, sighing and looking for any hint of understanding on his face. But after a while she saw only confusion, "I mean my period. It's late. By six weeks." 

Greg glanced away, "Right..."

A vague soft sort of smile graced her lips, it was adorable how flustered her boyfriend looked, "What does it mean when a woman's period is late, Greg?" 

"I- I don't know. Do you need to see a doctor?"

She rolled her eyes, playfully, "Well yes. But no," She paused, "I'm pregnant Greg."

There was a moment of silence.

"You're...what?"

"Pregnant."

"Oh right..." Greg nodded slowly, his brows furrowing as the news sunk into his brain, "Even though...I'm...?"

"Yes."

He wasn't sure how it was possible. It was possible, of course, for a woman get pregnant when her partner had a low sperm count but it was just very unlikely. He knew they'd abandoned all forms on contraception when they found out, but he never thought it would actually...work. He'd hoped, but no one ever held out much hope for couples like them.

But now...now, he was going to be a dad!

"Oh- Oh my god! You're pregnant!" He exclaimed, standing up to wrap his girlfriend in a tight hug. He lifted her feet off the floor and spun a few times before gently setting her down, "I'm- I'm gonna be a dad!"

"Yes Greg, you are." She giggled softly and cupped his cheeks in her hands, "The best dad."

Greg just laughed like a giddy child and scooped his girlfriend, his very pregnant girlfriend, up bridal style, carrying her out into the bedroom so he could place her down on the bed where he flopped down next to her.

"You're gonna be a mum," He said, gazing at her, tears obscuring his vision, "God you're incredible."

She kissed his cheeks softly, wiping his tears away with her thumb. He moved closer, wrapping his arms around her waist protectively.

Greg placed his hand softly over her stomach, grinning in absolute delight to himself. There was a baby in there. His baby, "I- I love you...so much."

She smiled, "I love you too."

* * *

"Greg, there's something I need to tell you."

Greg was too preoccupied with waving a waiter over so he could pay for the meal to really be paying attention to his wife, "Can it wait, love?"

Joanna sighed, watching Greg hand his card to the waiter and the man finally disappeared, now maybe she could have his full attention.

"Greg," She repeated firmly.

"Sorry darling, go ahead."

"I...this isn't easy to say but..."

Greg had his chin in his hand, leaning forward on the chair to show he was listening. Suddenly his eyes lit up and his mouth fell open.

"Wait, are you pregn-" 

"No." 

"Oh."

Despite the noise all around him Greg could only hear his pulse beating just too rapidly in his head. He swallowed back the nervous energy building up in his chest and reached for Joanna's hand, hesitating when she pulled it away. 

"Well you know you can tell me anything," He said, but there was no reply.

The minutes ticked by.

Finally, she looked at him again, not able to meet his eye as she spoke, "I can't do this anymore."

Greg felt his heart crack in his chest, but he ignored it. He was just doing that stupid overthinking thing again. He knew Joanna hated it when he did that, "D-Do what?"

She rolled her eyes, "You know what Greg. This. Us. I can't do it anymore. You're always working and that freak drug addict kid gets more of your attention than I do."

Greg opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

She continued, "I need a man, a real man, and the girls need a father - not some alcoholic detective who can't even solve his own cases."

"I sloved most of them..."

"Is that really all you have to say?!" She exclaimed, "I just told you that our marriage is over and all you can do is defend your pathetic imposter syndrome?!"

Greg just stared at her. He didn't know what he was supposed to say. How are you supposed to respond to that? He could feel his hands shaking and he couldn't stop them, he couldn't think.

She groaned, "Don't look at me like that. You know it's true."

No. No! He couldn't let it end like this. He had to try something - anything.

"C-can't we talk about this? Please, I can do better-"

"Steve."

"What?"

She pulled her phone out and scrolled through it for a second before shoving it into Greg's hand, "Steve. I've been seeing him for a few months now. It's all there."

And sure enough, it was. All the times they'd planned to meet up while he was working late. All the things his wife hated about him and had told Steve. All the kisses on the end of messages. All the sexting.

Then, at the end, there they were. Those fatal few words that just killed him all together: 'Tonight. I'm doing it tonight.'

He glanced up when the phone was roughly snatched away, tears obscuring his vision, "P-please, you can't- You can't do this- What about Anna, a-and Grace-"

"Oh so now you care about them, do you?" She asked, her tone full of venom, "You didn't last week when it was Anna's dance recital, work was more important to you then."

"Please-"

"Steve took them for ice cream the other day. He had Anna riding on his shoulders and she loved it. She said 'Daddy never lets me do this'."

"Shut up!"

"He'll be a better father than you ever were."

"You can't do that!"

"Do what?" She interrupted, "Take my kids away from an abusive father?"

Greg choked on his words. Abusive? Had he been...abusive? Really? He hadn't meant to have been. God he really did mess up this time.

She shrugged, "Face it. I raised them. They're my kids and they always have been."

No. That wasn't true. He was there, wasn't he? At least he tried to be. He was at birthdays and Christmases. Sure he missed some things but...well was he as bad as she said? 

Maybe he was. 

"You think a court is going to rule in favour of some washed up police officer who hangs around with drug addicts and can bearly afford his rent, over a stable household with two loving parents." She paused to look at him and raised her eyebrows, looking for an answer, "Well do you?!"

Greg was quiet for a very long time. His mouth felt dry and the room was spinning. Why did his head pound like this? He couldn't concentrate on anything other than the curshing weight on his heart, "...no..."

A satisfied looking smile settled over her face, "Exactly. The girls are with my mum, so don't even try anything."

He shook his head softly. He wouldn't try anything. Those beautiful girls were probably better off without him if he was as bad as Joanna said.

She downed the last of her wine and picked up her handbag, "I'll be over to collect my stuff on Monday." With that she was gone and all Greg could hear was the sharp click of her heels as she strode out of his life forever.


	8. Joseph's First Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't the first time he'd been hunted down like a rabbit by foxes, but it was one of the more terrifying times, mainly because his youngest and newest guard was the one who was - regrettably - in charge of his safety at the current moment and also nowhere to be seen.

Mycroft pressed his hand firmly over his mouth to muffle his breathing and sunk further into the dark corner he'd pushed himself into not moments ago.

He could hear the deafening noise of people - he didn't know how many - charging up and down rooms, smashing boxes, not unlike the ones he'd hidden behind, with crowbars as they searched for him.

This wasn't the first time he'd been hunted down like a rabbit by foxes, but it was one of the more terrifying times, mainly because his youngest and newest guard was the one who was - regrettably - in charge of his safety at the current moment and also nowhere to be seen.

He hadn't taken Joseph for the type to bolt at the first sign of danger but it was hard to come up with any other explanation for his absence.

Mycroft flinched rather violently as he heard a box nearby shatter and had to brace himself to not shriek.

It didn't help that his ankle was, at this time, completely broken. Being on his own wasn't exactly an issue but being on his own and not being able to walk was.

Another box gone, closer this time and there was little he could do to muffle his gasp.

"What was that?" 

"Over there!" 

Shit- He reached for the gun in the holster at his ankle but dropped it as he was grabbed by the collar and suddenly yanked out of his hiding space by two burly arms.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" The man in front of him lifted him so his feet couldn't even touch the ground, an unpleasant feeling at best.

He was pushed roughly against a wall and held there, dangling like a piece of meat in a butcher's shop. Well he might as well have been the way these two men were looking at him.

"Alright Mr Holmes, we'll make this easy for you. Tell us where to find Dennis Carter and we'll let you go."

Dennis Carter was an extremely high ranking government official, one who had down unspeakable things in the name of "progress" and was currently in Mycroft's protection after the sheer volume of death threats he had been receiving.

Now it was clear that protection was justified. Not that Mycroft cared. He could watch Carter die in front of him and his life wouldn't change. But the man needed to stay alive because he was the only person who had access to a secure vault system of under the radar government knowledge. One that didn't strictly speaking actually exist, but one that Mycroft also very much needed access to.

So you see, he couldn't tell these men anything. Even if he planned to get in with Carter, gain access to the vaults and then discreetly do away with him afterwards. 

"Gentlemen, please. I assure you, I know nothing about-"

"Bullshit!" 

A fist slammed into the wall next to his head, but he kept a straight face. Only showing mild boredom at the outburst, "Are you done?"

That earnt him a bloody nose.

"Tell us where the fuck he is or you are gonna be very sorry."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, "Your breath so close to my face is already making me sorry enough."

That comment got him a crowbar to the stomach, making him yell out in pain and curl in on himself the best he could under the circumstances.

"I'll give you one last chance, Holmes," The man not holding him said as he drew a gun from his pocket, deciding to press it against Mycroft's temple, "Do you really want to die protecting that scum?"

No. He didn't. But he had to. He was too disorientated to fight back, after having been hit quite hard on the back of the head earlier. There was still blood on his suit from that as a reminder to not turn his back on these two men. Not that that was an issue now.

He couldn't kick the man, considering doing that with a busted ankle would only hurt him.

Even if he could get free, the blow to his stomach moments earlier would have him doubling over in burning pain before he got very far.

He didn't have his gun or his umbrella and Anthea was probably only just realising he was late to the meeting he was meant to be at.

"Well?! Huh?!" The gun dug into his skull, sending shock waves all over his body, "Do you?!"

Gabriel had told him hiring a kid off the street to protect would end badly and in his final moments he couldn't believe that his biggest regret was that the doctor had been right.

He swallowed thickly and looked dead ahead. If he was going to die he did want to have a little dignity about it, he didn't want to be looking at either of these two.

That's when he noticed movement behind them. It was brief but it was there - a rat, perhaps? Then, out of the shadows, stepped a sight he never thought he'd see again. He sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes as relief washed over him, Joseph had always been one to show up late for everything. Even, apparently, this.

"Oi, what are you looking at?" The gun holding maniac asked, turning just in time to see a discarded crowbar collide rather suddenly with his own face. The man went flying, landing on the ground a few feet away where he limply stayed.

"Vince!" The man holding him yelled and very ungracefully dropped him to the floor, "You bastard kid! What did you do to him? He better not be dead or so help me-" His speech was quite brilliantly interrupted by a sharp right hook to the jaw, one that sent him stumbling backwards until he tripped on a piece of metal, ending up on the floor.

The man collected himself quickly, a low growl coming from somewhere in the back of his throat as he reached for his gun, lining it up with that of Mycroft's head, "I told you I was going to kill you, and this stupid prick can't stop me!" He screamed, pulling the trigger just as someone landed on top of him and grabbed his arm. 

A loud shot rang out in the warehouse which defended all inside it.

Joseph just continued to struggle with the remaining attacker, forcing his arm up until his shoulder nearly dislocated and he had to drop the gun because the pain was just too much.

Then, he recieved a sharp whack to the side of his head and immediately all his struggling stopped altogether.

There was silence.

Silence that was broken by Joseph's heavy braething. He stood on shaky legs, stumbling once before correcting himself.

He glanced at the man he'd first taken down, Vince...was it, and a nauseated feeling took over him. He had been warned that this job might involve- But he didn't think- Not so soon- 

He swallowed thickly. He didn't want to think about it. He looked away.

"Sir...I..." He couldn't think of what to say. Should he apologise for arriving so late? Should...should he be angry? Angry at Mycroft for putting him in this situation? Angry at Stanley for not telling him this would happen? Angry at the world for allowing any of this to happen in the first place.

He clenched his fists tightly, but after a moment released them. He wasn't angry. Not at Mycroft anyway.

"Are you alright? I know I took a while because I had to call Anthea and then Stanley yelled at me and god- I didn't know where you'd gone... But that's no excuse, I guess."

The silence in that moment was deafening. His heart skipped a beat.

"Sir?" No answer. 

He turned. "Mycroft?"

Then he saw it. The sight that made his heart drop into his stomach. His boss laid limply on the ground, an ever growing red patch appearing on his stomach.

"Shit- No, no, no, no-" He dropped to his knees, pressing his hands firmly against the wound. "How- How did this happen?!"

Then he remembered. The gunshot. It had been aimed at Mycroft's head but if the man's arm had been suddenly moved, which it was, it could easily have gone into his abdomen.

Another wave of heated anxiety hit Joseph as he realised all too soon that this was his fault.

"No, please, you can't die! You just can't!" He fumbled for his phone in his pocket before realising Anthea and Gabriel were already on their way here, letting it slip from his hand into the floor with a loud crack, "Just stay with me-"

"Jo...seph...?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm here, it's me-"

"I can't...I can't feel my legs..."

Joseph was seeing the world through blurry eyes as he pressed down even harder on the wound. His hands were a dark crimson colour, one he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to wash out.

"I- I know, sir- I'm sorry, I'm so, fucking sorry... But just, just listen to me- to my voice, Doctor Delgado is gonna be here soon a...nd...he...take...clin..."

* * *

Joseph's watch just wouldn't stop it's constant ticking, only getting louder and louder and louder until he simply couldn't take it anymore. He tore it off and threw it across the room where he heard it shatter and crash to the ground.

That little outburst got him concerned looks from those around him, but he pulled his knees up to his chest and ignored them.

He couldn't meet their eyes. 

They all probably hated him.

He didn't blame them.

Here he was trapped in a room with the two closest and oldest friends of Mycroft Holmes and he couldn't even look at them to apologise for letting the man get shot.

Everything was a blur after Mycroft had passed out in his arms. Gabriel arrived shortly after, stabilised him as much as possible and taken him to the clinic. When they got there Stanley and Anthea were already waiting. Gabriel had been in surgery since then, trying to save their boss who was currently clinging onto life. Now here they all were, waiting for any sign of news, outside the operating room.

Because of him.

The door next to him opened and he flinched, head snapping to the man who walked out.

Gabriel let out a tired huff, holding a hand to his head as he stumbled out of the room, nearly tripping over his own two feet. In a second, Stanley was by his side, supporting him as he stood.

"Heh...gracias amigo," He mumbled, a weak smile appearing on his face for a brief moment before disappearing. He knew what everyone wanted to hear, "Mycroft...he's alright..."

Joseph grinned.

Anthea shot him a very suspicious look, "Something else happened."

"I'm just tired, Anthe-"

"No. Tell us."

Gabriel groaned softly in response. He glanced at Joseph, who was still on the floor in a ball before looking back at Anthea.

"I...I couldn't save his legs."

The words hit Joseph like a ton of bricks. His smile fell as he became all too aware of how bright the lights were. He couldn't breathe, his collar was too tight. He reached up to try and loosen it but the buttons wouldn't budge. He just couldn't keep ahold of them, his fingers were numb. He was suffocating. He clawed at his throat and not even the feeling of warm liquid on his fingers would stop him from trying desperately to get any air into his lungs at all.

Then...someone was in front of him, pulling his hands away from his neck. Their mouth was moving but their words went right through his skull. He felt himself get lifted up. Where were they taking him? He couldn't see. His vision blurred and suddenly-

When the world came back into view he was in a chair, an uncomfortable one at that, next to a bed. A white bed that had a human shaped lump in the blankets.

He could hear the gentle beeping of the heart monitor, which gave him a strange sense of security. At least Mr Holmes was alive, even if he would never...

No. He didn't want to say it.

He clenched his fists suddenly, God- If he hadn't jumped that second man then maybe the bullet wouldn't have hit his spine! 

His head was in his hands before he could stop it, jaw squeezed shut to stop tears from pouring out. He didn't have the right to feel upset, he caused this.

On his first fucking mission as well!

He glanced at his employer, peacefully asleep, fully aware that he'd never get to call that man his friend ever again.

Mycroft was going to be enraged, so very angry, with him and knew that. He was going to get fired and lose everything - he knew that too. But he had to be the one to do it.

He needed to be the one to tell Mycroft what had happened. 

Then he would pack his things and leave. 

There. He had a plan. One that he was satisfied with. 

He nodded softly to himself before crossing his arms tightly over his chest and sunk back into the chair, drifting off to sleep within a matter of seconds.


End file.
